


Blue Dahlias

by Plz_Humor_My_Ships



Series: Bandom Oneshots/Multifics [4]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Cute, Doctor Pete, Doctor/Patient, Falling In Love, Fluff, I cried with that song, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Patient Patrick, SO SO SAD, Sad, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, hospital au, sweethearts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plz_Humor_My_Ships/pseuds/Plz_Humor_My_Ships
Summary: Peterick(because fav!) Hospital Au Soul Mate Trope. Cue the angst; what if you meet your soulmate and you're the person who has to tell them they are fatally ill?Recommended song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yw6i1SAHetcDon’t talk to Pete on Saturdays. Don’t text, don’t call, and don’t even think about going to see him. He doesn’t want to see you.(He just wants Patrick)





	Blue Dahlias

 

Don’t talk to Pete on Saturdays. Don’t text, don’t call, and don’t even think about going to see him. He doesn’t want to see you.

Pete used to love Saturdays, it was his shortest shift at the hospital he worked at. It was the shift with the funniest and most capable staff. And his patients on his rounds were far and few between seeing as they were all sleeping around that time.

Pete met Patrick on a Saturday, well, met in the loosest form of the word. Saw, seemed more appropriate. The good doctor had been chatting with the on call nurse, Andy when the ambulance pulled in. They stepped out of the way, as the paramedics wheeled the new arrival through the emergency room doors. The man looked around his age, maybe younger, with strawberry-blond locks splayed around his head. His face was unblemished and looked unbearably sweet and peaceful in his unconscious state. One would think that he was just sleeping if not for the situation and his ghastly pale complexion.

One of the paramedics, another of his friends, Joe, pulled him along after the gurney explaining the situation as they hurried down the hall to an open room. Witnesses say he had been off for days, progressively getting, duller and weaker as time progressed. Then had called the ambulance when he had grasped at his chest frantically, struggled for breath then passed out. An asthmatic, they had told Joe. Yeah right, Pete could see this wasn’t even close to an attack, this had to be something else.

Once they had the young man hooked up to an I.V and heart monitor, Pete shooed the lingering staff away so he could run some tests, before they sent him in for CAT scans and an MRI if he thought it was necessary. While he had been waiting, Andy had stopped by to drop off the filled in information about his new patent. Probably filled in by a relative in the waiting room. Patrick Stump, Male, 33, April 27, 1984, Unmated.

He recorded his usual findings, pulse, blood pressure and such. But when he want to check Patrick’s pupil response he was frozen and his carefully built, doctors impassive mask had shattered. As he pulled back the unconscious man’s eyelids to see his eyes, as soon as he had seen his hazel-blue irises, Pete’s wrists and throat tingled. His gaze snapped down to his wrists as his clipboard fell to the bed beside his newly discovered soulmate. He watched in awe and the two black bands around each wrist filled with blue Dahlia flowers, he could only assume that the blank band around his neck matched.

Pete  _loved_  Saturdays.

***

Pete happily showed off his marks to Andy as they waited for his soulmates, scan results. They were comparing his blue Dahlias to Andy’s orange Sunflowers when Joe returned. Exchanging a small goodbye before taking Andy’s hand to sign out of their shifts for the day. Pete watched them go with a fond smile, eyeing the way the sunflowers on their own wrists matched. He hoped he could be that happy with the younger man in the room behind him.

Humming quietly he flipped through the results, scanning over the analysis before he had to double-take, he had to be sure. His breath hitched and his heart and eyes burned with sorrowful tears.

Pete discovered the cancer on a Saturday.

***

Once he collected himself - which took an hour mind you, he had just found Patrick he wasn’t ready to lose him yet,  _or ever_  – and cleaned up the evidence of his distress, he entered the hospital room. Bright eyes shifted from the window, pale lips parted in greeting but seemed to die on his tongue. Shock took over the weary peace and the younger man’s head ducked and wrists rose. They both were still and silent as they watched blue Dahlias bloom on pale wrists, and in Pete’s case, neck.

Pete had to watch as Joy turned to resignation when he received the news, with a quiet-

“I knew my Asthma, couldn’t get that bad like that, it was… I guess I just didn’t want to even… I don’t... I’m sorry.” He began to cry. “Oh god Pete, I’m so fucking sorry. I-I-I just met you! I don’t want to go yet! Fuck! FUCK!” Pete launched forward, and pulled the damned man into his arms. And as weak arms clung to his clothes he vowed to make his last few weeks the best Patrick could have in his situation. He took double shifts on Saturdays and any other days he could. Management understood and allowed him to remain in the ICU where Patrick was until... U-until…

Fuck.

***

The last few days Pete slept in the chair beside the hospital bed, one pale guitar calloused hand held tightly in his own.

They both knew when the time had come. They held each other as tightly as they could, whispered promises and sweet nothings pressed into soft kisses. And Patrick, sweet Patrick, too good for the fucked up world Patrick, that asshole. He had made Pete promise to keep going, to do what he loved and to look after the people who loved him, and if not then to live for them instead, and for him.

The time came with a kiss. One last kiss filled with all their conjoined pain, sorrow, longing, and love, as the screaming echo of the heart monitor flat-lining taunted him. Harmonizing only moments later with Pete’s wail of anguish. Tears streaming as he struggled for Patrick as familiar tattooed armed pulled him away. His tears fell, some on his clothes, the restraining arms, but mainly, they fell on his wrists. His once bright and thriving blue Dahlias burning as the colour drained, the flowers left monochrome, a sure sign that his other half was gone.

Pete’s last kiss.  
his last time feeling whole.  
His other half.  
The funeral filled with blue Dahlias.  
The tombstone carved with them.  
He sits there every weekend.  
Every weekend he covers the grave in a fresh bouquet of them.

Saturdays.  
  
Don’t talk to Pete on Saturdays. Don’t text, don’t call, and don’t even think about going to see him. He doesn’t want to see  _you_.

 

 

 

**_He just wants Patrick._ **

 

 

 


End file.
